Se Battre un Duel
by Karasuma
Summary: My original characters, Tani and Tasia, have a run-in with Disney's Clopin during a duel in the streets.


NOTE: Since most of my gypsy characters were born out of my affinity for Disney's version of "The Hunchback of Notre Dame," the 'leader' alluded to in so many of Tani and Tasia's stories was actually Disney's version of Clopin. Since I plan on grouping all of these into one large published story one day, I changed Clopin's character to someone completely different named Ronek, who isn't even the leader of the gypsies, only someone very important to their 'army,' so to speak (not to mention Sapphire's lover -- and the 'leader' of that group of gypsies became another completely different character named Mandel). Since that would kind of destroy the idea I'm going for here, I'm reintroducing Clopin to the stories. This little portion probably won't even find its way into the published stories, so here's a little something for the Disney fans out there. ^_~ To Mr. Eisner: Please don't sue me. I have nothing you want, except maybe a few dustbunnies under my bed that talk and sing cutesy tunes . I'm not stealing your character, I'm merely borrowing him for a short time until I get my own characters set up properly.  
  
Se Battre un Duel -- French, meaning "To Fight in a Duel."  
  
Assassins cannot be assassins all the time. Especially if they do not wish the world to know they are assassins. Suspicions were running high in the camp Tani and Tasia had chosen to live in during their stay in Paris, and it was high time they showed the camp they had some kind of way to make their money. They had to explain their accumulation of a wagon somehow.  
The two had occupied a moderately busy corner of the marketing streets. Tani had seated herself upon a pile of stones, using a piece of flint to sharpen a few foils laid out in front of her. Tasia had made a kind of arena for herself out of twigs and pebbles collected from the stone pile and was circling it much like a cat ready for the next mouse to arrive. A small black hat was set out in front of the arena, sparse copper coins littering the bottom of it.  
A man approached the makeshift arena. "Qu'est-ce que c'est?" he asked arrogantly, expecting Tasia to spout something at him in the strange Romani language instead of his native tongue.  
He reeled back a few steps in surprise when she answered him in perfectly fluent French. "C'est une arene," she explained. "I am challenging anyone who will fight to a duel. If I win, I get a few copper coins out of you. If you win, you get half of what's in the hat."  
He eyed her dubiously. "How do I know that isn't fake money? You're a gypsy; they all have a tendency to stretch the truth."  
Giving him a seething glare for his stereotypical observation, she calmly walked to the hat, fished out a coin, and handed it to him. "Take a bite. See what you think."  
He did so, hearing the satisfying crack of teeth on metal. "Bien," he conceded, handing the coin back to her. She tossed it over her shoulder, listening to it land back in the hat with a pleasant tink.   
Tani approached the two. "Choose your weapon, good m'sieur," she, too, addressed him in his native tongue, showing him the two foils she had been working on.  
As both gypsies had expected, he grabbed the heavier of the two. "Men..." Tani muttered under her breath.   
Tasia held in her giggles. "Shall we?" she addressed the man. He nodded, taking his stance across from her. They saluted each other as the traditional duelists did, waiting for Tani to exit the arena.  
He grinned at her arrogantly. "I hope you know what you're doing, girl. I never lose, especially to a female."  
Tasia only smiled mysteriously and began her attack. Thrust, parry, thrust, thrust. The man was taken off-guard by her obvious talent and training. His aggressive manner disentegrated as he struggled to defend himself against her repeated attacks.  
It took minutes for her to deliver the final blow, knocking the sword out of his hand with a quick flick of her wrist. The foil flew into the air, glinted merrily in the sun, and landed in Tasia's free hand as it completed its aerial acrobatics. He gazed at her in shock as the small audience that had gathered to watch the duel applauded modestly. Tasia took a short bow and, setting one foil aside, held her hand out to him. "The reward, good m'sieur?" she prompted.  
Grumbling to himself, he fished a silver coin out of his trousers and placed it in her palm. "Never was beaten before, much less by a woman," he muttered. "You've got talent, girl."  
"Merci," she answered simply, tossing the coin into the hat.  
As the first man stalked off in the direction of the nearest tavern, a new figure emerged from the crowd. Swathed in a long, dark violet cape, it was impossible to describe it as male or female, much less put a name to it. A yellow feather poked forth from the fabric, bobbing idiotically. "Might you accept another challenger?" it hissed, the accent on the French words sounding awkward and displaced.  
Tasia wasn't mistaken for a second. "M'sieur le Roi," she addressed him formally, mock-bowing to him, "I would be honored greatly."  
Silence descended upon the street as Tasia unveiled the figure's identity. The cape was lost in a swirl of technicolor smoke as Clopin, King of the Parisian Gypsies, displayed himself to the audience, who gave a little cheer at their favorite puppeteer and story-teller. Three of the girls from the kumpania, Sapphire, Aidan, and Trinity, stopped their singing performance on a nearby corner and ran over to watch the show.  
Tasia smiled at him, almost maliciously. She knew Clopin well, and knew his ego even better, though the acquaintance was not precisely a pleasant one. This would be interesting. "Shall we make this a business deal, or purely entertainment? A girl needs to eat, you know."  
He smiled back with the same near-maliciousness. He despised her shrewdness as much as she despised his near-arrogance. "'Tis your call, Madame. I am but your humble servant."  
She snorted good-naturedly. "A business deal it is then. Prove your worth, good m'sieur."  
He fished about in his hose and tunic for a bit of money, finding himself pennyless. "I am sorry to say I am worthless this moment, Madame," he sighed melodramatically as the audience laughed.  
Tasia only sniffed at him. "Then no weapon for you, Your Highness. I shall have to slice you into pieces instead. We shall dine with the King tonight." The crowd chuckled at her crude pun.  
"Ah, but you take so much for granted," he scolded her, producing a weapon of his own seemingly out of thin air. "This old man has learned a thing or two in his day as well." Tasia saw through his game. He was playing to the audience as much as he could. He was sure of his victory over her, and therefore wanted as many coins from her as possible. It was a ploy that was working, judging from the routine clinking she heard coming from the hat.  
She shrugged non-chalantly at him. "As you please, Majesty. But if this is to be a proper business deal, we must make some other type of bargain. Perhaps," she eyed him under her dark lashes, "a new weapon to the victor? Defeat me and you shall have your choice of our foils," she gestured to Tani, who smirked her trademark smirk and held out her portion of the collection. "I defeat you, and I win this lovely faerie-sword of yours which appears out of the heavens seemingly at random." She arched an eyebrow at him. "Do we have a deal?" She heard the exited twitter of the three girls from the kumpania behind her and grinned to herself.  
"But of course, my lady." He bowed to her, mockingly, so far down that his long, angular nose touched his kneecaps.   
The twittering from the three girls became louder as Tasia tapped the back of his head with the hilt of her weapon. "Sir King, stop this foolishness and let us begin."  
He rose and arched an eyebrow at her. "As you wish."  
Without so much as a traditional salute, the duel had begun. Even Tani, sitting on her pile of stones, methodically sharpening the remaining weapons, paused in her work to watch the two. Never had she seen such a match for Tasia's great talent with a sword. She clearly remembered when Tasia defeated every worthy opponent in their training camp...and then went on to defeat the leader of the Brigands himself! No, Tasia was no amateur, that was certain, but this man...  
Clopin had managed to hold his own, even daring one or two aggressive thrusts at Tasia, causing her to lose her pattern and falter a few steps. It was like a dance between the two, the choreography flawlessly executed as the pleasant clashing of the two swords reverberated through the quickly crowding street. The small audience had tripled in size since the challenge had been made, and even gypsies on other corners of the streets had ceased their performing to watch the show. To see their King dueling such a worthy opponent was cause enough to cease their work and simply watch in amazement as they battled on.  
Tasia, however, had learned one art that Clopin had not -- that of keeping her concentration and her temper in check. Clopin, frustrated at not being able to defeat his opponent immediately, was starting to falter in his own rhythm, and Tasia moved in for the kill. After what seemed like hours of watching the two fight, she suddenly executed a beautiful twirl out of the thrust Clopin had started, turned back to face him in half a heartbeat, and had, like the first man, flipped the sword out of his hand with another quick flick of her wrist. The weapon clattered to the ground with a shocking cacophony of metal against paved stone.  
The audience was dumbfounded. No one said a word. They watched as Clopin, mouth open wide enough to attract a swarm of flies, slowly and deliberately knelt in front of her and kissed her hand, this time in earnest respect for her work. Tasia only eyed him in her mysteriously amused way, nodding her head at him in return.  
Only then did the audience begin cheering for her performance. The hat soon overflowed with handfuls of coins, marbles, and other delights children would often leave as payment. Even the gypsies, desperate as they were for their money, managed to make a small contribution.  
Clopin rose, picked up his sword and offered it to her, holding it sideways in his long hands, much like a knight in the old court. "Your reward, Lady Striker," he addressed her formally.  
She shook her head and fished a coin out of the purse she wore at her hip. "No, Majesty, 'tis I who shall reward you. You put up quite a fight, and I am honored to call you my worthy opponent." Her smile held only a hint of jesting, and he gave her the same in turn. He swirled about and, in a flash of technicolor smoke, had vanished from the arena.  
"Showoff," Tasia muttered. The twittering of those three girls was heard once more, this time fading as they ran back to their corner before it was stolen. Grumbling to herself, Tasia issued her next challenge, much to the bemusement of her partner.  
  
***  
  
"You certainly were a showoff tonight," Sapphire chided Clopin gently. She sat behind him on the floor, massaging the knots out of his shoulders and enjoying another round of deflating his oversized ego. It had to be her favorite hobby.  
He made a sound that resembled a horse snorting in disgust. "Showoff indeed," he nearly spat, moving away from her and sulking. "She bested me in my work. I am the best duelist in this camp. And she is a woman!"  
Sapphire gave him a Look. "Exactly what difference does *that* make?"  
He rolled his eyes to the heavens. "I can't win today. You are right, cherie, it shouldn't matter that she is a woman."  
"But it does matter to you, apparently."  
He groaned. "Females."  
She chuckled and poked him in the ribs. "And what's that supposed to mean?"  
"Ach, must you torment me further?" He put his hand to his eyes dramatically.  
"I suppose you have more intriguing things in mind?" she shot back.  
His eyes glinted. "Perhaps." He rose from his seat on the floor. "Excuses-moi, ma cherie, but I have a chore to attend to presently. I shall see your lovely face in the morning."  
She chuckled again. "Flatterer." She watched him amble out of the tent casually, whistling a strange tune as he left.  
  
***  
  
Tani smirked as she entered the wagon she and Tasia occupied. "You certainly were a showoff tonight."  
Tasia looked up from her mending and pursed her lips. "Quoi?"  
Tani closed the door and faced her partner. "You know what. Don't give me that."  
Tasia chuckled to herself. "He deserved it and you know it."  
Tani grinned and settled herself next to her, discarding the mending on the floor and grabbing her around the waist. "You're absolutely right. 'Twas entertainment at its best to see the look on his face when he lost his weapon."  
Tasia giggled and wrapped her arms around Tani's neck. "Now there's a portrait I'd love to see hanging on our walls."  
"Indeed..." Tani winked at her.  
In lieu of a response, Tasia brought her face down for a long, loving kiss. Just as she was about to say something, a scraping against their door interrupted their private moment. Their eyes met, questioningly, and Tasia slid from the sheets to see who, or what, dared to trespass near their secluded living quarters.  
The door creaked open, revealing... nothing. Tasia looked about in confusion. She moved to walk down the stairs and explore when her foot brushed against cold metal. She glanced down to see a long, elegant 'faerie' sword -- the very same she had knocked out of her worthy opponent's hands only hours before. She knelt before it, almost reverently, noticing a small slip of paper wrapped around the hilt. It held a message scrawled in curvy, flowing purple script. "Pour la victoire."  
"For the victor."  
  
  
Translations:  
Lord, there's six thousand of them in this one. *sweatdrop*  
Qu'est-ce que c'est? -- Literally, 'What is this that is here?' In context, 'What's this?'  
C'est une arene. -- 'It's an arena.'  
Merci. -- 'Thank you.'  
M'sieur le Roi -- 'M'sieur' is a short way of saying 'monsieur', which is like saying 'mister' or 'sir' in English. The full phrase would translate to something like, 'Sir King.'  
Excuses-moi -- 'Excuse me,' used informally, meaning he knows who he is speaking with either as a friend or intimately. Dunno which one it is here. ^_~  
Ma cherie -- 'My dear,' or 'My darling.' General term of endearment.  
Quoi? -- 'What?'  



End file.
